“Stay,” he ordered, using his size and voice to ensure compliance.
Augusta moved between them, one hand on the boy’s head and one on Reaver’s chest. “He won’t hurt me,” she said.
Reaver frowned. “Didn’t think he would. Boy is no bigger than a—”
“I was speaking to Ash.”
He eyed the boy who glared daggers at him from thick-lashed eyes. “Ash. That your name, boy?”
“Far as you’re concerned, my name is death, Reaver. You ever ’urt Miss Widmore, I’ll pluck your eyes out your ’ead, see if I don’t.”
Reaver’s brows rose along with his estimation of the boy’s worth. Vicious and loyal. Just his sort. “Who is he, Gus?”
She sighed. “A pickpocket. I hired him to distract Mr. Duff. You mustn’t be angry with him, Sebastian. I brought him here.”
He wasn’t angry. Far from it. He was elated. Had he found Glassington in her chamber instead, Augusta might never have forgiven him for spilling the man’s blood.
“Why here?” he asked.
Her hand fell away, but her gaze remained fixed upon his. “Ash, I should like a nice cup of tea. Run along and tell Mrs. Higgins. One cup. You may deliver it.”
“I ain’t leavin’ til—”
“Go,” she said firmly, smoothing the boy’s hair. “Or I’ll insist you bathe daily rather than weekly.”
The boy fumed a moment, glaring daggers at Reaver. “Aye, then. I’ll fetch your tea.” He scooted off the chair and stomped to the door, shoulders back, arms bowed at his sides. At the last, he turned and pointed in Reaver’s direction. “Miss Widmore best be smilin’ when I return, Reaver. Quick with a blade, I am.” His eyes went to Reaver’s crotch. “Easy reach, that.”
“Oh, dear heavens. Ash! Go.”
He did, slamming the door for emphasis.
Reaver chuckled. “Where the devil did you find him?”
She sighed. “Cheapside. Near the lodging house. I spotted him taking Mrs. Renley’s reticule.”
“So, you brought him here.”
“To work. He is a good boy, Sebastian. He simply needs legitimate employment.”
“Here.”
Her eyes sparked with temper. “Yes. Here. What else was I to do? I could not leave him to be …” She bit down on the rest.
Which made him curious. “To be what?”
“Beaten.”
“Bloody hell.”
Her delicate jaw flexed. “Yes, well. That is why you mustn’t cast him out.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve no such intention.” Frowning, he recalled her odd behavior upon seeing his house for the first time. “You orchestrated everything for that boy, didn’t you? Your objection to the empty house. Your insistence on hiring a full staff. Your ludicrous assertion about birds in my chimneys.”
She blinked and raised a brow. “Don’t be silly. It was always about you. A man needs a proper home with proper furniture.” She sniffed. “Perhaps my observations about the birds were a trifle exaggerated, and yes, those were aimed at ensuring the boy found a role here.”
He snorted. “A trifle. There were never any bloody birds.”
“I wanted to give you something for all the trouble I’d caused. A place of comfort. Sanctuary. Once I was gone, I wanted you to feel your life was better for having helped me.”
His bones squeezed his heart. He didn’t know what to say. He believed her, of course. It was entirely in Augusta’s nature to seek balanced scales. But it killed him to hear her say, “Once I was gone.” She could not be gone. He could not watch her leave.
Particularly to marry Glassington. Or any other man.
Her hands landed on her hips. “I do not deserve such glowering, Sebastian Reaver. Had I not stolen into your office, you would be bored senseless. Admit it.”
He stepped closer. “Oh, I admit it.”
“Yes, well. It is true.”
“Aye.”
“And—and your home is much more comfortable than before.”
“Less empty, eh? Ye’ve done fine work, Augusta Widmore.” He played with the curls draped over her shoulder, gently stroking them between his fingers.
Her eyes softened and darkened, her throat rippling on a swallow. “Thank you.”
The kiss happened so quickly, he could not be certain who moved first. One moment their mouths were separate. The next, they were fused. Grinding together with desperate hunger. His tongue tasted her. His arm crushed her against him. His hand squeezed a hard-tipped breast, his palm circling until she groaned.
Then, he felt her need. Small hands speared and tugged at his hair. One long thigh rose up alongside his. Soft lips ate at his. Her hand cupped his jaw. His lips fell to her throat. His fingers grasped her nipple through soft, papery linen.
He squeezed. She keened. Gasped. Ground herself hard against his thigh.
Bloody hell, he could come from that sound alone.
The rattle of a teacup echoed from the corridor. Next came a loud, tuneless whistle and overly emphatic footsteps. “Gor, this tea is like to scald me,” the boy exclaimed. Several seconds passed before the knob twisted and the door opened.
By that time, Reaver had released Augusta, cupping her cheek and stroking her swollen lips with his thumb before heading for the dressing room. Behind him, he heard Ash deposit the cup on the table with a rattling thunk.
“Ash,” Augusta said, her voice a bit breathless. “By chance, did you see …?”
“I didn’t see nothin’.”
The boy’s assurance appeared to satisfy her. Until he elaborated.
“Ye keep kissin’ Reaver like that, though, ye best make him marry ye, that’s all I got to say.”
Reaver grinned as he closed the adjoining door.
Aye. He was beginning to like that boy more and more.
~~*
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“During courtship, one’s appetites should be measured and restrained so as not to appear gluttonous. Coincidentally, such restriction often serves to stimulate a man’s appetite for matrimony.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Mr. Elijah Kilbrenner in a letter containing keen observations on the benefits of moderation.
Phoebe’s midnight incursion into Monsieur Leclerc’s kitchen was discovered just as she stuffed a buttered roll with honey and pepper into her mouth. Her eyes closed with satisfaction as the sweet, spicy combination burst upon her palate.
“Devil take it, Phoebe.”
Her eyes popped open. Lantern light flickered and swayed.
“What are you eating?”
She struggled to chew the large bite before answering Adam with a sheepish grin, “A roll?”
He came forward and placed the lantern on the table. Gently, he reached out and swiped a bead of honey from her chin. Then, he did the oddest thing—he licked the honey from his finger.
The sight flooded her body with heat. Unwarranted, unwanted, highly inadvisable heat.
“Mmm. Honey and … pepper?”
She swallowed. “I enjoy the juxtaposition.”
He glanced around the dark room. “And that is your fourth cup of chocolate.”
“I also enjoy chocolate.”
He sighed. Chuckled. Gave her a heady look through golden eyes. “That you do.”
“Dr. Young insists that I should satisfy my cravings.”